


something beautiful, a contradiction

by seditonem



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, pain kinks? i don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seditonem/pseuds/seditonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>edmund's bruises prove useful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something beautiful, a contradiction

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: the context of this fic is a particular line in voyage of the dawn treader where it says that caspian had a good day while edmund, lucy and eustace were held captive waiting to be sold as slaves. i suppose this is just taking it one step further? 
> 
> (it must be important if i wrote it in capslock way back when.)

The first thing he noticed was the bruise.  
  
It wasn't an obvious one - probably so as not to scare potential buyers away, Caspian thought, angrily - just above the neck of his tunic, blossoming over his left collarbone like a storm cloud on a pale horizon. Caspian suspected it would fit the shape of Pug's fist almost exactly.  
  
And once he'd noticed the first sign, others followed; his knuckles were bleeding, there was a cut on his lip which had hastily been cleaned up, and Caspian was almost sure Edmund winced every time he moved his left arm. They’d been in battle together, and Caspian knew Edmund wouldn’t complain unless he had good reason - but good reason for a king of Narnia probably meant something like having an arm cut off.  
  
"Your highness is hurt," he said, quietly, as Edmund came to stand next to him.  
  
"I'm fine, Caspian," Edmund replied shortly, and Caspian was almost tempted to throw Pug in irons that second. He opened his mouth to give the order, the words on the tip of his tongue, and then stopped. The man was a slave trader: it would've been easier to teach a dragon kindness than to make Pug understand his wrongs.  
  
Caspian sighed, feeling oddly defeated. The irony of Edmund's title - the  _just_  - didn't escape him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Edmund smile a little.  
  
●  
  
They didn't have much time to talk after that - Lucy wanted to check Reepicheep was unhurt, and then Caspian found himself embroiled in making sure the Lone Islands would answer to Narnia even after he was gone. It was rather like his first few days as King in Narnia, and for a whole day it felt as if he had achieved nothing at all; as if all his work was futile, come full circle back to the beginning.  
  
"Caspian?" It was Edmund's voice. Caspian pulled himself from his thoughts, looking away from the fireplace, and moved to open the door to the quarters the Duke had given him for his stay. Edmund smiled hesitantly, his hands restless. "I wondered if you were still up. Lucy's asleep, but - well," he said, absently, looking down the corridor. The long window at the end of it showed the moon, full and bigger than Caspian had ever seen it in Narnia.  
  
"Come in," Caspian interjected, standing back from the door to let Edmund past. "The Duke left some wine, which I think might help with the pain." He didn't want to ask what had happened; Edmund would tell him, if he wanted to. But at the same time something akin to anger burned in his veins, as if he had run the entire length of the Rush, trying to keep pace with the water, and was struggling to breathe. It was like the simmer of heat he'd noticed the first time he'd seen Edmund again, hands on his skin of his forearm as Caspian pulled him out of the sea with him, but this time it had a blunt but painful edge, like an overused kitchen knife.  
  
He poured Edmund a goblet of wine in silence. They sat down by the fire, and Edmund sighed deeply, leaning back into the chair as if he'd not rested in weeks. They drank silently, each contemplating the day’s events. Caspian’s armour glinted dully in the firelight where it rested against the wall.  
  
"You don't need to worry," Edmund said, quietly, tracing the rim of his goblet with a fingertip. Caspian looked up, bemused. "It's not serious." He pulled a face and continued. "One of the crew of the slave ship said... something. About Lucy and myself - clearly they had no idea we were siblings - but - at the time. At the time I could not find reason within myself."  
  
Caspian could imagine the rest quite clearly: Edmund with his wrists bound, his eyes almost black with anger, lashing out at the men - and probably taking down a few of them as he did so. Caspian hardly thought a year away from the battleground would have any effect on Edmund's ability to fight, even if he did have both hands tied together.  
  
"The look on Pug's face, though, as he tried to decide where to hit me so it wouldn't show," Edmund chuckled. He seemed  _proud_  of what he’d done, even as he looked embarrassed, in a strange way - as if it meant nothing that he’d been captured and nearly sold as a slave because of Caspian’s idea; as if it meant nothing to him what had happened, only that he was still alive, and that he had not stood quietly aside. He had fought.  
  
"I'm not worrying," Caspian admitted, suddenly. "I'm ashamed."  
  
Edmund frowned. "Why? There was nothing you could have done."  
  
Caspian drained his goblet and stood up, aware that he was gesturing too widely with his hands but unable to stop himself. "I - I spent the day  _talking_ , Edmund - talking and plotting and actually -" he laughed bitterly "- enjoying myself. While you were taking blows for your sister's honour. While you were the one behaving like a true king." He faced the fire, bracing his arms on the mantelpiece.  
  
"Well," Edmund said, sounding slightly amused, "I’ve had more practice than you have with this... kingship business. It's not as if you could have known what was happening to us, Caspian. Besides, you met a friend of your father's, a good man, and you helped restore order to the islands. There is no harm in enjoying your Kingship while you can." There was pause. "Goodness knows you dealt with enough hardships in past years." Caspian could imagine the rueful smile on his face all too well. “As for acting like a king - I don’t think Peter would have advised lashing out at some idiots who decided to talk a little too freely.”  
  
They were silent again for a moment, and Caspian refilled his goblet from the jug on the mantelpiece.  
  
Edmund made as if to speak again, but Caspian interrupted him."Will you at least let me see how badly they hurt you?" he asked, afraid to raise his voice - but at the same time he had to know. He turned from the fire, and the look in Edmund's eyes made heat spike along the back of his neck. He could feel his cheeks flushing, his blood thrumming like a plucked string.  
  
"Very well, highness," Edmund replied. He kept his voice level, but Caspian could see his pulse leaping in his throat. Edmund stood slowly, unbuckling his leather belt and letting it drop the floor. He pulled at the hem of his tunic, and got it a few inches up before his face betrayed the pain in his shoulder.  
  
"Let me," Caspian said, and Edmund nodded, the movement so small he almost missed it, letting Caspian curl his fingers into the fabric and pull it gently up. He felt hypersensitive suddenly, all too aware that this was Edmund in front of him, and then looked down and saw the dark purple bruise blooming on Edmund's ribs.  
  
Before he thought to ask, Caspian was already reaching to touch the mottled skin, spreading his fingertips along the edges. Edmund drew in a sharp breath, his hands drawing fists in Caspian's tunic. "Sorry," Caspian said hurriedly.  
  
"No, no, s’ok," Edmund managed, “just, you might as well take the whole thing off." He cleared his throat. Caspian hid a smile that was threatening to overwhelm his face. He pushed the tunic up further, and then slowly raised Edmund's right arm and pulled the garment over his head, down his left arm, and off him in one swift movement.  
  
Next were the boots. Edmund stepped out of them, and then Caspian undid the laces of his breeches, letting them fall to the floor.  
  
"It's not as bad as it looks," Edmund shrugged, and then winced. It was actually  _worse_  than Caspian had expected - there was another bruise on Edmund's left thigh (Caspian tried to avoid looking at anything _other_  than his injuries, because goodness only knew where that would land him), and a large area of skin had been scraped off his knee. His left arm was slightly swollen, though Caspian hoped nothing was wrong with the bone.  
  
"Yes, it is," he said, quietly, spreading his hand over the bruise on Edmund's ribs again. Edmund hissed, his hands clenching, and without thought Caspian kissed him.  
  
For a second he thought he'd made a mistake - presumed too much, perhaps, despite the fact that Edmund was naked in front of him - but Edmund was already arching into him, licking along the seam of Caspian's mouth until he opened for him. Edmund kissed as if nothing else mattered, as if Caspian had just taunted him and he was trying to prove himself.  
  
Caspian pushed him against the wall, hoping there were no bruises on his back, and mouthed hotly down the side of Edmund's neck. He spread his hand tenderly across the bruise on Edmund's arm, pulling back as Edmund made a choked sound. "No, no, that was good," he managed, licking his lips, and Caspian grinned.  
  
"Does it not hurt?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at the bruise on his arm.  
  
"Of course it bloody hurts," Edmund rolled his eyes, "and why do you like touching them so much anyway? If you like them that much I'm sure I can give you some of your own."  
  
Caspian kissed him again. "I'd like see you try," he murmured, setting about giving Edmund a new mark on his neck. Edmund sighed like Caspian was just the most irritating person he'd ever met, and started undoing with Caspian's belt. It was just then that Caspian noticed he was hard - it was as if he’d been so preoccupied with Edmund, Edmund’s body,  _Edmund’s_  injuries, that he’d forgotten himself completely.  
  
"It may have escaped you notice, your  _majesty_ , but you're still wearing clothes," Edmund said, and Caspian kissed the bruise on his collarbone. He was rewarded with a choked off moan, and then Edmund pushed him back far enough to encourage him to remove his tunic.  
  
Edmund's hands were cool against his skin, resting gently on his lower stomach as he undid the laces of his breeches, and then Caspian stepped back against him, cupping his face and kissing him. His body felt overheated, and their kiss turned from gentle to hot and slick before Caspian could even process it. He pushed Edmund against the wall, pinning him in place by his wrists, and shoved one leg between Edmund's. He was instantly gratified when Edmund moaned low his throat, his lips against the slope of Caspian's jaw.  
  
"You must say, now, if it hurts," Caspian whispered, but what he meant was  _tell me now if I must stop_. Edmund pulled his hands away from the wall, and then curled his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Caspian's head and pressed himself closer, which Caspian took as an answer. And if he said anything, Caspian missed it completely, as he was distracted by the feel of Edmund's skin against his own.  
  
Edmund rocked his hips against Caspian's thigh, pressing the hard length of his cock against the fabric of his breeches, which seemed to be having difficulty removing themselves from where they hung low on Caspian's hips. Edmund didn't seem to mind, though. Caspian kissed him again, running the backs of his fingers down Edmund’s side until he found the bruise again, pressing gently until Edmund hissed, his nails digging into Caspian’s skin. “You seem to have some sort of relationship with my bruises,” Edmund murmured, reaching down until the heel of his hand pressed gently against the front of Caspian’s breeches. Caspian didn’t feel much like answering, so he pulled Edmund closer, their bodies flush against one another, and pressed his lips against the bruise on Edmund’s collarbone.  
  
He wasn’t sure if the hiss of pain that Edmund gave then was what made him think of it, or if the idea had lurked in his mind ever since he’d seen that first bruise, but Caspian felt his heart jolt at the possibility that Edmund could have been hurt more seriously, or killed, or lost to him completely, sold before Caspian could free him. Without meaning to, his hands tightened on Edmund’s hips, and Edmund cursed loudly.  
  
“I’m not  _going_  anywhere, Caspian,” he said, almost angrily, and then paused as Caspian looked him in the eye. Edmund sighed, his hand coming up to cup Caspian’s jaw. Neither of them said anything, but Edmund seemed to say everything with his eyes anyway.  
  
“I should hope not,” Caspian replied, to break the silence, and kissed Edmund fiercely. Edmund pressed himself closer, almost riding Caspian’s thigh, and pulled Caspian’s breeches down as much as their position would allow. He reached down and wrapped a hand around them, and the first stroke made Caspian gasp against Edmund’s lips. He added his own hand, spitting quickly into the palm. For a minute it was awkward, as they both tried to figure out what the other wanted, and then Caspian covered Edmund’s hand in his own and set the pace, hard and fast and almost painful.  
  
“Oh,  _fuck_ ,” Edmund muttered, his voice catching, and Caspian wanted to kiss him again but couldn’t. He braced his knee against the stone wall, leaning back a little so he could wrap his free hand around the bruise on Edmund’s arm. Edmund whined low in his throat, like it was too much, the combination of pleasure and pain, and his fingernails dug into Caspian’s hips as he came. Caspian felt almost vindicated - as the youngest, he was supposed to be the one who came first - and then Edmund turned his full attention on him and Caspian knew he was in some sort of trouble.  
  
Edmund wiggled down, his back scraping against the wall in a way Caspian was sure had to be painful, and settled himself on his knees in front of Caspian.  
  
“You’re not --” Caspian began, but Edmund was already tonguing at the head of his cock, come smeared on his lips, and Caspian’s mind couldn’t quite deal with that. He braced himself against the wall, leaning his forehead against the cool stone, and tried not to fuck Edmund’s mouth as he wrapped his lips around him. Edmund wasn’t good, exactly, but he was more than enthusiastic, and then Caspian looked down and saw the red swell of his lips wrapped around him, and nothing could’ve prevented him from coming. “Edmund,” he gasped, one hand scrabbling weakly at Edmund’s shoulder, but Edmund shrugged him off. He swallowed twice, and then pulled off, come dripping down his chin.  
  
Caspian rested his head against the wall as Edmund stood up, his hands on Caspian’s hips.  
  
“Come to bed,” he said, quietly, and Caspian went.  
  
●  
  
They set sail a few days after that, when Edmund’s bruises were turning from blue to yellowish, and Caspian’s bruises were only beginning to show.  
  
“Will your highness not take my cabin?” Drinian asked, again, as they lost sight of the Lone Islands, and Caspian glanced at Edmund for a second before replying. The bruise on his collarbone was all but gone; instead there was a faint red mark on his neck.  
  
“No, my Lord, Edmund and I are more than happy to keep our bunks where we are.”  
  
He wasn’t being entirely untruthful.


End file.
